


collided galaxies

by zayheathers



Category: Matilda (1996), Matilda - Roald Dahl
Genre: F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff, Protective Parental Units, Self-Indulgent, So small you need a microscope, angst but it's very wee, being in love, cavity-inducing fluff, references to matilda the musical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2020-06-28 17:44:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19817323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zayheathers/pseuds/zayheathers
Summary: And as they press against each other on the outside of the car, unbreakable smiles as they hang on to each other, Jennifer Honey thinks that this is how galaxies collide.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I reposted this work from a while ago and remapped everything and such—I like it much better now, and I hope you do too. A quick note: this is really just self-indulgent fluff because I have too many feelings.
> 
> For anyone interested in my thought process in creating Samantha Winsome, I first noticed that many of the main female characters in Matilda's narrative have three-syllable first names (Agatha, Jennifer, Matilda, Zinnia, Lavender) and two-syllable last names that described a characteristic (Wormwood, Honey, Trunchbull), so I decided to follow this formula. Samantha (a three-syllable name) Winsome (a two-syllable name that describes her characteristic of charm).
> 
> I also made her come from the UK because it's, one, easier for me, and two, when I initially wrote her as a charming American woman from the 90s, she ended up sounding like a Brit anyway for some reason so I decided to just roll with it.

> “your hand
> 
> touching mine.
> 
> this is how
> 
> galaxies
> 
> collide.” 
> 
> ― Sanober Khan

* * *

_Oh goodness!_ Jennifer Honey’s barely contained excitement ran through the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair, making her almost bounce with energy. As she practically pranced out of the room, quietly excusing herself, Jennifer Honey smiled, thinking of all the potential her new student could reach if allowed the opportunity.

She had been so distracted that, as she rounded the corner, she did not notice another person walking down the hall until they had collided—and suddenly Jennifer Honey felt warm, strong arms wrap around her waist, no doubt saving her from what would have been a painful plunge. 

“Why, hullo there, Miss Honey.” Her saviour grins, and Miss Honey looks up to find her gaze locked with the eyes of her (awfully charming) fellow teacher, Miss Samantha Winsome. Samantha smiles in that disarming way of hers—something Jennifer is _just beginning_ to get accustomed to—and says, “Nasty fall that would have been.” 

A shy smile is given in lieu of a response, and Jennifer’s hands busy themselves with patting her skirt down for lack of anything else to do. “Hello, Miss Winsome—”

“—Samantha—”

“Samantha." She breathes, glad she can drop all pretence of formality, as she would consider them friends—though the other woman’s opinion on it, she does not know. "What are you doing here?”

“Taking a stroll.” Jennifer raises her eyebrows, and Samantha elaborates. “I’ve been suspended from teaching. My methods are apparently a bit too ‘controversial’ for Miss Trunchbull’s tastes.” A fleeting question of _why_ flies through Jennifer’s head, but before she can find the words to ask, Samantha is asking her own questions. “What has gotten you so distracted, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Oh!” She gasps happily, excited at the thought of her student. “Did you know, there’s a new student in my class, Matilda, and she can do large math sums in her head! She multiplied thirteen by three-hundred-and-sixty-four, and she didn’t even need paper! And she's reading above any grade level at this school. It’s wonderful!” Her excitement had built so rapidly that Jennifer Honey can no longer contain it within her lithe frame, and throws herself into Miss Winsome’s unsuspecting arms, the momentum spinning them both.

“Oh, wow.” Samantha says, breathless as she notices the pure unadulterated joy on Jennifer’s softly striking face; her beautiful brown hair falling against her cheek, and eyes smiling with a wonder that could surpass the shine of even the brightest of suns. Unconsciously, their arms wrapped around each other, and as Miss Honey realises her arms are circled around the taller woman’s neck, a blush quickly spreads through the expanse of her chest. Both women slowly retreat their arms.

“That’s,” awkwardly, Samantha clears her throat, “that _is_ wonderful, Jen!”

“It is, isn’t it? That’s where I’m headed right now, her office,” Jennifer smiles, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear nervously, the previous euphoria having worn off, “to ask Miss Trunchbull if Matilda can move up to a level that’s more suitable for her.”

“I would be happy to walk you there, if you would like.” She charmingly offers her arm for Jennifer to hold. Shyly, she takes it, her face colouring yet again as her hand comes in brief contact with the subtle swell of Miss Winsome’s bicep. Together, they walk the rarely quiet hallway of Crunchem Hall, sharing hushed observations or whispered conversation through as their hearts fall faster, sweeter.

As they near the doorway to what was surely hell, but better known as The Principal’s Office, Miss Honey releases the grip on Samantha’s arm—steadily increasing with each step towards the office. “I suppose it would be better if I talked to her alone.” 

The worried look Miss Winsome give her is nothing short of heart-warming. “If you’re a-hundred percent certain.”

“I am, but thank you.”

Hand coming up to rub the back of her neck, a nervous tick, Samantha asks, “Would it be too presumptuous if I waited around the corner? Just to, uh, offer moral support I suppose?”

Jennifer smiles up at her, “I wouldn’t mind.” And with that, she turns, preparing herself to face the dreaded Trunchbull.

* * *

Looking down at her feet, Samantha realises she’s almost paced a hole into the floor. A while ago, a few concerning noises made their way to her anxious ears, and she is only getting increasingly agitated with every minute that drags by. She doesn’t think Miss Trunchbull would kill her niece, not in the slightest, but there is always that ever-pressing fear of her capability to do so—especially when the person she fears for is darling Jennifer Honey.

Her pacing continues for a while, if only to occupy her restless legs, and soon she hears soft, frantic footsteps approaching. _Jennifer_. Before they can run each other over again, Miss Winsome turns the corner. The Miss Honey she sees is a smaller, less confident than the one who entered Agatha Trunchbull’s office moments ago. Even from a distance, Samantha can see her shaking ever so slightly, and she longs to hold—to ensure she would never fear again.

“Miss Honey.” She speaks softly. From the blank look of Miss Honey’s face, Samantha figures she didn’t hear her. “Jennifer,” she tries again, this time taking her hands and holding them in her own. Hearing her name, she looks up at her, eyes wide and lips trembling. Not bothering to ask if she’s alright—there’s no point, evidently, she wasn’t—so she instead asks, “What happened?”

“I… I…” Jennifer seems to think over what to say, and chooses, “n-nothing much. I-I asked her if I could move Matilda up into a higher grade and she refused. Tha-that’s all.”

“No offence, love, but it doesn’t sound like nothing.” Miss Honey studiously studies the intricate patterns of the plane concrete floor, and Samantha sighs. “You can tell me,” she whispers like a confession in the confidentiality of their alone-ness. It’s a promise, a prayer—it is her begging this beautiful broken woman for a chance to help heal herself, to alleviate the burden she thinks she has to carry alone. “Jennifer.” She says again, shocking even herself with the intensity of the three spoken syllables.

And at this, Jennifer Honey finally looks at her with something that wasn’t a fleeting glance, and reveals something in her eyes Samantha can’t quite name. “I… I can’t tell you now. Meet me at my classroom after school? I have to do something.”

Samantha nods instantly, knows there’s no use trying to refuse this woman anything. “Of course. And you promise you’ll tell me?” At Jennifer’s verification, she smiles. “Alright then. We’d best get you back to your class, they’re probably missing their teacher. Hopefully they haven't blown-up your classroom.” She gives a feeble laugh, but a glance to her right tells her Jennifer isn’t laughing either. Isn’t even smiling. “Hey,” she says, carefully pulling her into a soft hug, “you’re alright. You’re alright.”

Feeling Miss Honey relax into her hold, her arms sliding upwards to twine around her neck, Samantha sways from side to side in a deserted corridor, offering silent comfort, hoping it’s somehow enough to make it alright.

Later, she finds herself driving Jennifer Honey to the house of one Harry Wormwood in a ratty, old, hand-me-down convertible. A mere few minutes ago, Miss Honey had relayed to her what happened in the office, and asked if Samantha would mind dropping her off at the Wormwood house. 

It was with no offence to the Wormwoods, but Samantha thinks they don't quite sound like great people, or even parents—not that Samantha has much experience with those—and so requested to accompany Miss Honey in her impromptu conference with Mister and Missus Wormwood.

"What do you think they're like?" The soft lilting honey of Jennifer's voice pulls her out of her thoughts. Giving a brief look to the side, she glances at the woman whose head rests on the window, and whose shoulders sag slightly, as if they’re dragged downwards by the terrible weight of reality.

Samantha chuckles bitterly, which isn’t fair, she knows. She hasn’t met the people yet—for all she knows, they could be the most loving parents in all the world, but as they allowed Matilda to attend Crunchem Hall, she highly doubts so. "You really don't want me to answer that, love."

The sleepy hum Jennifer gave melts her insides, and she can’t resist turning her head again to see Jennifer leaning up at her, eyes wide and unguarded. It is a breathtakingly beautiful sight she hopes to see again. "Will you tell me anyway?" Apparently, her tiredness wears off her cautiousness, and the questions she asks are almost coy.

In response, Samantha grins and is delighted to find an attractive light blush paint Jennifer Honey's neck and cheeks. "Well, my view of them is not all that pleasant, I'm afraid. They don't sound horrible, but they're obviously not model parents either. But then again, when it comes to guardians, they get progressively worse or progressively better. It's one or the other, really." Jennifer nods, tempting lips pouting innocently. "But to send their daughter into a rubbish school half a year late even though they obviously earn quite a bit, looking at the neighbourhood, that doesn't sound very decent, I don't think." 

* * *

Jennifer can tell Samantha was properly angry from the way her hands clench harder around the steering wheel, and how the muscles in her forearms tense, veins popping. Quietly, she places a warm, comforting hand on Samantha’s arm, and almost immediately it loosens, falling back down onto the joystick in-between worn seats of leather. For a few moments, the silence is content, and Jennifer's hand lays still. Daringly, her hand slides forward, into the other woman's surprisingly calloused hand, and she can feel skin heat at her touch.

It takes quite a while for the door to the Wormwood's house to open after three knocks, and as the door slowly opens Jennifer Honey sees the unimpressed raised eyebrow of a stout balding man. Atop his hair is some sort of cream, and sweat-soaked shirt he wears only serves to highlight his bloodshot eyes—no doubt from the excessive amount of time spent watching television. On the whole, it is a deeply unsightly vision, and she wishes it could be considered socially acceptable to not look at a man when talking to him.

"We don't give money, we don't do charity, and we don't buy raffle tickets." Mr. Wormwood says in his strong, boisterous accent. Behind her, Samantha tenses and she resists the urge to clasp their hands together.

"Mr. Wormwood," a hand drifts towards her lower back in encouragement, and it gives her the courage to speak with as much determination as she can muster. "My name is Miss Jennifer Honey, and I would like to talk to you about Matilda?"

He gestures behind her with stubby fingers, "Then who's this? Your bodyguard?"

"My colleague and friend, Miss Samantha Winsome."

"Well,” he laughs to himself, and Jennifer finds it hard to identify exactly what it is he thinks is so funny, “whatever it is, she's your problem now." A rush of anger runs through her veins, and judging from the tensing of Samantha’s hand on her back, Miss Winsome is as aggravated as she. Her arm shoots out just as Mr. Wormwood is about to close the door, and Jennifer blames the shiver that runs through her on the cold of the night, not the display of Samantha Winsome's raw strength.

"We'd like to talk about your daughter's performance in school, so if you were to kindly let us in," Samantha says in a tone that clearly underlines the fact that it is in his best interest to do so, "we'll soon be on our way."

He sighs, rolling his head back a little, as if he’s tired of holding it upwards. "Alright, fine. Honey-cakes," he calls to his wife, and Miss Honey finds herself hoping she will never be reduced to such sickly pet-names, "turn off the TV."

His wife, either not hearing him or blatantly ignoring him, continues watching, her arms raised as if she herself were in the ring. Mr. Wormwood sighs yet again and turns it off himself. Had Miss Honey been a less polite woman, she would have laughed at the completely distraught face Mrs. Wormwood pulled at the blank of the TV, like her dear pet had died. 

"What'd you do that for? Rodriguez had him on the ropes," she snarks in an accent as equally irritating as her husband. As she turns, Jennifer sees the heavily made-up face of Mrs. Zinnia Wormwood, even at eight in the evening, and frowns.

"There's some teachers here. Say they wanna talk about Matilda. Mikey," Jennifer assumes their young boy's name is Mikey, as he instantly perks up after hearing his name called from where he was draped across the sofa like a dead body, "grab me a beer, will ya?"

"Oh," Mrs. Wormwood groans, paying no attention to her son or husband, "what'd she do now?"

Jennifer beams at the chance to finally do what she came here to do, talk about Matilda. She hopes that these people at least have the common sense to see that their daughter is extraordinary "Oh, it's quite the opposite really. Matilda is a wonderful student, and she has the most brilliant mind. She is quite excellent at math and science, and she’s reading material I didn’t even see until my second year of college!"

"College!" Mr. Wormwood scoffs, prompting Mrs. Wormwood to sneer and snort.

* * *

"College," Mrs. Wormwood parrots, "you want Matilda to go to college? Listen here Miss Snit," and Samantha marvels at the amount of restraint it takes to not to punch a person in the face, "a girl does not get anywhere by acting smart. I mean—" she laughs again, a high-pitched, ugly thing, "just take a look at you and me! You chose books, and I chose looks," this time, Samantha barely restrains a snort. "I have a beautiful house, a wealthy husband, and you're stuck teaching snot-nosed children their ABCs!

You want Matilda to go to college? Ha!”

“I didn’t go to college,” Mr. Wormwood says, and Samantha finds that explains quite a bit about the man, “I don’t know anyone who did. Bunch of fools and businessmen who’ve wasted their money. There’s nothing that college can teach you that a TV can’t teach you faster.”

Jennifer then speaks, and for that Samantha is glad, as she was truly losing her patience with both these idiots. “Mister Wormwood,” she reprimands in a voice both stern and polite—something only Jennifer can pull off, she’s sure, “do not sneer at educated people. What if, heaven forbid, you turn ill. The doctor who would have treated you would have been a college graduate.

Or, or say you’d gotten sued for selling a faulty car,” out of the corner of her eye, Samantha sees Mister Wormwood’s entire five-foot-long body tense, and she wonders what kind of bad business he’d gotten himself into, though it she supposes it’s really not her concern, not until it jeopardises the safety of his children, “the lawyer who would’ve defended you would be a college graduate too.”

“Sued? What car? Who you been talkin’ to?”

“N-nobody.” Jennifer stutters, utterly confused. And it was at this moment that Miss Samantha Winsome, finding no more patience to deal out, decides she has had enough of these terrible people and their terrible hospitality and their terrible business—and _especially_ their terrible treatment of Jennifer Honey.

“You know what, Jen?” Samantha says, walking to stand behind her chair. Helping her up, she places her hand on the small of her back in what she hopes is a comforting gesture, and from the beautiful but brief smile Miss Honey grateful flashes her way, it is. “This isn’t worth our time." On her left, she hears Mister Wormwood cough something that sounds suspiciously like 'shoulda slammed the door on yous' but Samantha, digging deep for the one good thing her mother taught her—manners—politely ignores him and whispers in Jennifer's ear, "There’s probably nothing you can say to persuade these kinds of people, anyway.”

The small, uncertain laugh that follows is almost enough to make this entire evening worth it. Almost.

Turning towards Mister and Missus Wormwood, she says, “Thank you both for your time and, erm," fingers flailing as she attempts to find a word that is only perhaps fifty per-cent a lie, but as she finds none, she thinks that a lie will have to do, "hospitality, but we’d best be off now. Long day tomorrow and all. We’ll be happy to show ourselves out,” she lies again through gritted teeth, in a tone clearly saying that nothing about this situation was happy at all.

Mr. Wormwood groans. “Please do.”

“Sue them for interrupting our show,” Mrs. Wormwood snarks.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

Samantha rolls her eyes at the couple as she holds the front door open, watching Jenny carefully place _The Wind in The Willows_ onto a strange figurine for Matilda to read, mouthing something to a dark haired little girl Samantha can only assume to be Matilda.

* * *

  
Outside, Jennifer Honey takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Well,” Samantha says from next to her as she closes the door behind them, shutting out the strained sound of whatever programme the television is blaring, “glad that’s over.” Miss Honey laughs softly at the utter relief on her face, and thought that if it had been on any other face, it would have been something other that unbelievably charming. “I am sorry you had to go through that, though. Really.”

Looking down at the sidewalk, she waves her hand in an effort to seem dismissive, “It’s fine.”

“It isn’t.” Jennifer glances briefly at her, but averts her gaze again at the complete sincerity in Samantha’s voice. “No, Jennifer, it—” she gently taps her chin and says, “Look at me. It’s not. That vile woman doesn’t know the first thing about you. She doesn’t know how beautiful you are when you laugh, or how your eyes light up when you teach, or how you’ve been through so much and yet you never let it weigh you down. She doesn’t know how wonderfully brilliant you are. Or how pure your heart is.”

Jennifer looks at her, breathless even though they haven’t been walking particularly fast, eyes shining, mouth open. Even though she’s resisting the urge to place her fingers onto her chest, she knows her heart has started beating unbearably fast—a constant, it seems, when she is around the likes of Samantha Winsome. "I—" love you? her brain tries. She mentally scolds herself. "I should thank you," she safely says instead, continuing the walk to the car parked around the quiet corner, away from those foul people. Samantha's deep brown eyes snap up to meet hers from where they had been sheepishly studying the floor.

"What on Earth for?"

"For... For being there for me. When no one else was. For showing me kindness and friendship without expecting anything in return—"

"Time with you is enough," Samantha interrupts, and Jennifer feels herself blush.

"For being so... sweet to me, a—and for knowing what I need, even if I don't know it myself. For..." she trails off as Samantha's eyes carefully consider her own, eyebrows drawn together in an expression that isn’t quite pity, no, but an emotion that Jennifer really doesn’t want to think about at the moment. Jennifer's eyes flicker down to the woman's lips instead, only to find that the sweet, drawn-to-one-side grin is equally as distracting, not to mention dangerous. "For," Jennifer tries again, but a warm, calloused palm rises to cup her pink cheek, cutting her off. 

"I," Samantha draws them closer together, and Jennifer can feel the ghost of breath on her lips, "would really like to kiss you, Jennifer Honey." She gasps at her words, feeling every fibre of her being alight. A charming mouth quirks up to one side in what is almost a smirk, brown eyes darting downwards to soft-looking, parted lips, "If you would like me to, that is."

She feels her tongue slowly wet her dry lips, feels herself pull them closer, feels the stretch of her neck as it cranes upwards. And then she feels the wonderful pressure of Samantha's lips upon her own. 

Jennifer’s first thought as their lips meet is that Samantha unbelievable gentleness with her. It’s far from her first kiss, of course—she isn’t exactly experienced, no, but she refuses to believe herself _completely_ innocent either—but she’s never felt _this_ with her previous partner. 

It’s like a molten heat running through her veins at a simple kiss, rendering her knees almost completely useless—it was all she could do not to fall. Her head is heady with something that felt like _anticipation_ —she wouldn’t know. With her previous partners, all she would feel was a slight nervousness and a tinge of excitement at the rebelliousness of it all; for Jennifer Honey, it had always been an act of figuring out who she was, and though she did feel a thing or too for her previous partners, it had never been this strong.

As they pull away, Samantha leans their foreheads together, eyes closed and hearts blossoming. The metal of the car, cooled by the crisp night, against the heat of their bodies is a striking comparison, and as Samantha softly presses her against it, Jennifer finds she quite likes the contrast.

Neither of them are breathing too hard, as the kiss had been full of passion yet sweet all the same, and so Samantha does not have any difficulty asking yet another life-changing question. “So what does this mean? For us, I mean. I, ah, I would very much like to be in a relationship with you, but I understand that this has been very, uh, sudden. And I will wait for your answer however long it takes, whether it’s days or centuries. A-and of course, there’s everything else to consider, our, well our jobs, for one, and, um—”

With a fond smile, Jennifer decides to help put Samantha out of her misery, “and the school itself of course,” she pauses, “and, um, Matilda?” Samantha gives a confirmation so firm it almost makes Jennifer say yes right on the spot. She’s glad the both of them decided right off the bat, no matter what happens next, to help Matilda, no matter the cost. 

“And of course,” Samantha starts, seeming to have rediscovered her footing, “normal couple-y things?”

Jennifer raises an eyebrow, “Couple-y things?”

“Yeah, like dinners and dates, and unconditional love and support.”

_Love._ “Yes. That all, um, that all will be taken into account as I make my decision.” She grasps Samantha’s hand, offering a teasing smile, letting her know that in no way was she going to refuse. And as they press against each other on the outside of Samantha’s car, unbreakable smiles as they hang on to each other, Jennifer Honey thinks _this_ is how galaxies collide. 


	2. the gift of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, life goes on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much requested by many of you, I've continued this story, added a little bit of epilogue. Thankfully, Samantha and Jennifer still have a bit to share. Within this chapter, I've included a reference or two to Matilda: The Musical, and while it isn't necessary to understand the plot, I suggest you give it a listen. It really is quite good.
> 
> Also, quick note, I have changed the rating also.

> _For us to have each other,_
> 
> _is like a dream come true._
> 
> _No, I didn’t give you the gift of life,_
> 
> _Life gave me the gift of you._
> 
> _— Author Unknown, “The Gift of You”_

* * *

“Samantha?” Matilda asks on a particular rainy day, where the three of them are sprawled out in the living room, piles of books keeping them company; the constant pitter-patter of rain provides the perfect ambience for reading, and the warmth of the house the perfect comfort for story-telling.

  
  
  


Samantha has no need to look up from her book, not having been properly reading it. Instead, she had been contentedly studying the Honeys—quietly reading their own books—taking pleasure in soft smiles and their wonder at the beauty of words on a page. Almost three weeks have passed since Matilda and Jennifer made the adoption official, and Samantha has to admit that Matilda Honey has a nice ring to it— _though_ , she thinks, _not as nice a ring as Matilda Honey-Winsome_ , but that is for another time.

  
  
  


“Yes, love?”

  
  
  


“Could you tell me about your parents?” From the corner of her eye, Samantha can see the moment Jennifer’s head snaps up, a mixture of concern and curiosity reflecting in coffee-coloured eyes. Of course, the basics of her childhood Jennifer already knows, but Samantha spared the more distressing details, even if it made her suspect there was more to the story.

  
  
  


“Of course, sweetheart.” She leans forward to stroke the child’s dark brown hair—thankfully the only thing Matilda inherited from her sorry excuse of a sperm-donor. “What would you like to know?”

  
  
  


Now, Matilda seems to hesitate slightly. “What… What were they like? What was your childhood like? How did you end up here?”

  
  
  


Much like a great amount of her students, she decides to answer the easiest question first. Internally however, she is sure to remind herself to keep her tale as child-friendly as possible. “My childhood was, if I were to describe it in a single word, broken. When I was a child, around eight or nine, my father left our home—can’t really remember why—but he left behind a small amount of money and three young children for his wife to take care of. My brother must have been, oh, about three, maybe four. My sister about five or six.

  
  
  


Soon after, my mother fell into a depression. We’ve always known she wasn’t quite… _well_ in the head. When my grandmother died she would switch from a raging fire to breakdowns at the drop of a pin. It wasn’t exactly something we weren’t used to. But… this was the worst. She just seemed to stop caring about us.” Pausing here, she drops her head, trying to find the words. The comforting hand on her arm brings her head up to find Jennifer resting against her right side and Matilda on her other. 

  
  
  


Continuing, she gives a small smile at the warmth the image brings. “And so I had to step up. I looked after my siblings. Got a job, provided food. The only thing my mother still paid for was rent with her inheritance.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Jennifer discreetly frowns, though Samantha can feel the movement with her shoulder and knows she is upset. The small woman doesn’t like her clinical tone, and can tell there is something she is hiding, though for Matilda’s sake or her own, she does not know.

  
  
  


“I sheltered my siblings from the world, tried to keep them as happy as possible. And I made sure their image of our mother wasn’t tainted, even if it meant them being mad at me. I knew I’d have to leave someday, and then the only person left would be our mother.” From her head's placement on Samantha's shoulder, Jennifer can hear the heavily disguised fatigue laced in Samantha’s voice.

  
  
  


“When I turned eighteen, I had to leave. Couldn’t keep up. I was so tired. And then when I heard I could get a job in America, I jumped at the chance. I knew it wasn’t likely that I’d find the money for University, and there weren’t many people willing to hire someone lacking proper qualifications—’s why I never left Crunchem, it was the best opportunity I’d have. And sure, it was shady, but I’d no other options.”

  
  
  


Matilda burrows further into her side. “That sounds horrible. “

  
  
  


Samantha merely shrugs. “Whatever it was, I’m glad it brought you and your mother into my life. You both are stars in a nebulous sky and lights I couldn’t live without,” she says, bringing bright, sweet smiles to the faces of her loves, yet again warming her heart. “And besides, if I never came to Crunchem, then I’d never see this super, brilliant girl single-handedly take down the Trunch!”

  
  
  


The young girl laughs with glee as she jumps into Samantha’s lap, causing the woman to groan in fake protest and wrap her arms around Matilda’s small figure. She stands up, Matilda still giggling in her arms, with ease and spins. “I’m sorry your family was as dreadful as that,” she says, bringing the mood back to solem. “It’s funny, we’ve all had bad family in our lives, but now we’ve found a better one.”

  
  
  


Samantha nods, pressing a soft kiss to Matilda’s forehead, who yawns and leans into her neck. “And for that, I am infinitely glad. But _I_ also think that it’s your bedtime, sweetheart.” A glance at the window confirms the sentiment. Looking down at Jennifer, who has been watching their exchange lovingly, she makes her way upstairs to Matilda’s bedroom.

  
  
  


“I don’t think she’ll be asking for a story tonight,” Jennifer says, and watching Matilda’s eyes drop sleepily as she lays her down, Samantha is inclined to agree.

  
  
  


Before either of them can leave, however, Matilda calls out to them. “Will you stay the night, Samantha? I wanna see you in the morning.” Both adults chuckle—Matilda is not usually so obvious in her demands.

  
  
  


“Of course I will, darling.”

  
  
  


“Alright. I love you both.”

  
  
  


Samantha smiles, feeling Jennifer do the same where she is leaning into her shoulder. “We love you too, sweetheart.”

* * *

“Samantha,” Jennifer says outside, after they leave Matilda to sleep, and the other woman knows this is the moment Jennifer asks her own questions. Samantha situates herself comfortably onto the couch across Jennifer, propping her legs under her, ready for questioning. “You don’t need to answer, under any circumstances, but what…” Large brown eyes rise to the ceiling as she searches for the best way to phrase her question. Smiling, Samantha decides to help her out a little.

  
  
  


“You want to know the whole story,” she says, and Jennifer agrees with a slow nod of her head. “Of course.” With a breath, she dives right into it. “I’ve always thought she hated me the most, mother did, after dad left. We weren’t all that close beforehand, but after, she acted like I was, well I suppose like I was the entire reason dad left us. Always said I was ‘ugly’ like him, that I was too much for him to handle. That I was an undeserved punishment for her, or that I was trying to upstage her, every time I would stand up for myself, or _especially_ my siblings. She needed control over us, needed to feel like she still had one hand on the wheel.”

  
  
  


Samantha’s hand drifts down to her back, and Jennifer’s eyes follow. She gasps as Sam lifts the back of her shirt slowly. “That’s why I think she started beating me, so that she still had a hand on the wheel, in her own way. I know it isn't… uncommon, to be beaten—and I know you’ve suffered through worse. It’s just the truth of me. Nothing can change it.”

  
  
  


Slumping downwards into the couch, she breathes an exhausted breath while Jennifer rubs her shoulders, careful not to touch her back. “She only ever whipped me, which I’m grateful for, but I didn’t treat the scars right. Left a few marks. Got an infection a few times, but it didn’t matter. Not when I did it all for my siblings.”

  
  
  


A hand through her hair as she sighs, disappointed in herself. “I should be stronger,” she says, which elicits a noise of protest from the woman beside her. “And I still feel guilt, because I left, because of how I left. Part of me thinks I deserve the pain, I deserve to be shunned, because I left. I couldn’t be strong enough. Doesn't make it hurt less though.”

  
  
  


“You _have_ been strong.” Jennifer says, grabbing her hands, “For so long, sweetheart. Longer than you should have had to. Don’t compare yourself to me—we have _both_ been hurt by the very people who should give us unconditional love, but the difference in our experience doesn’t minimise the depth of our scars. Samantha, you are the strongest person I know, and just because there are people who don’t appreciate that doesn’t make it any less true.” 

  
  
  


Finally, Samantha sighs, reaching an arm out for the other woman. Pulling her into her side, she says, “I don’t deserve you.”

  
  
  


“No. You deserve everything life gives you from now on. Which _includes_ me, and Matilda, and all the happiness that comes.”

  
  
  


“I… I love you,” Samantha says. It’s new—up until this moment, she had yet to say it out loud, even though she thought it every day, every minute they spent together, and will continue to do so—and she feels Jennifer tense. Her heart almost feels as if it has lost the will to continue beating, but then Jennifer relaxes and smiles.

  
  
  


“I love you too. So much.”

  
  
  


“I’m glad. It would be incredibly awkward if you didn’t.” Jennifer hits her playfully on her thigh.

  
  
  


They sit in content silence for a while, listening to the slow, steady pulsing of each other’s hearts, before Jennifer asks, “Do your siblings know where you are now? Are you in contact with them?”

  
  
  


“In a way, yes. They know where I live… _And_ they also have your address.” Samantha grins sheepishly. “I hope that’s alright, I just thought since I spend quite a lot of time here, having this address would be of use. I sent the last letter a few months ago.” Then her smile fades, and she chuckles humourlessly, “Though I don’t think it makes a difference, they haven’t contacted me in over fifteen years. Stephen sent me an update of his address, and Sarah’s too when it changed, but not much else.”

  
  
  


“Well then, it’s their loss,” Jennifer says with a finality that makes Samantha smile, “we’re perfectly content without them.”

* * *

Over the next few days, Jennifer and Matilda are… cautious around her. Not in an overt or irritating way, thank goodness—she doesn’t think she can handle that—but in a heart-warming, sweet way that makes her smile like a loon for the rest of the afternoon.

  
  
  


Like this very morning, for example, the three of them are enjoying the fresh spring sun while having a picnic behind the Honey House. Matilda is laughing boundlessly—a freeing sound both adults are glad to hear—as Samantha carries her by the waist and twirls her around. 

  
  
  


“Samantha,” Matilda says, pulling them both down onto the picnic blanket, “will you stay with us again?” Jennifer’s hands immediately start running through her hair, and Samantha smiles, thinking there is no way she would ever refuse either child or mother—not if she could help it.

  
  
  


“Of course, love.”

  
  
  


“You can sleep with my mom,” she surprises them by saying, which reduces Jennifer to a blushing, stuttering mess. “Because the other rooms are still being refurbished, right?” Matilda explains, apparently thinking they need to be persuaded. “And Samantha can’t keep sleeping on the couch, I heard her say it’s not good for her back. Which makes hers the only room you can stay in.”

  
  
  


“W—what about,” Jennifer says, but stops herself after hearing the way her voice shakes. It’s so quiet that she doesn’t catch either Samantha or Matilda’s attention, so she tries again, louder, more confident. “What about your room, dear?”

  
  
  


“Well I don’t think the floor is any better than the couch, mom,” Matilda sasses, and Jennifer can’t help it, but she beams at this child she can _finally_ call hers. “And your bed is larger than mine—it’s made for two people anyway.” Again, Jennifer’s face flushes, and she only hopes Matilda is too preoccupied to see it. Sharing a bed with Samantha Winsome? The very notion brings a heat through her body and a color to her cheeks.

  
  
  


Looking to her left, she sees Samantha wearing a grin that manages to be so caringly concerned yet cautiously cheeky. It adds an even stronger layer of warmth to her already tinted skin. “Ah, Matilda,” Samantha says, drawing her eyes away from Miss Honey—thank goodness, she suspected had their gazes locked another second, she would have melted into a puddle on the floor, “it’s very sweet of you to worry, but I’m perfectly fine on the couch, love.”

  
  
  


“But what about your back?”

  
  
  


Samantha waves it off with a smile, “‘S alright. It’s been through worse before, believe me.” And though she laughs, just like that, Jennifer is given a sobering reminder of Samantha’s less than luxurious past. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I wouldn’t want to make your mum uncomfortab—”

  
  
  


“No, no,” Jennifer blurts, almost by accident. It’s just—she can’t stand the thought of Samantha having to relive her impoverished childhood by putting her back in unnecessary discomfort in the name of chivalry. “I—I don’t mind. Really. You can,” she gulps, “share my bed. It’s big enough for the both of us, and we’re both adults, after all.”

  
  
  


The look Samantha gives her makes her think of a lost puppy, head tilted to the side, carefully considering. “If you’re sure, darling.” Jennifer smiles at the pet name that flutters her heart. “Don’t think you have to.”

  
  
  


“But I want to.”

  
  
  


“Oh. Alright then.” She turns to Matilda who has been listening with rapt attention, “I suppose that settles it, my lovely, I’m sleeping here tonight.”

  
  
  


“Yes!” Matilda beams happily, then drags both adults to their feet, “Now come on, we wanted to teach you how to cartwheel!”

  
  


* * *

  
  


She wakes up with a start, feeling an arm laying protectively over her waist. Something is wrong, she _knows_ somehow, and so she cannot give herself time to think about how right it feels to wake with Samantha Winsome next to her.

  
  
  


Quietly, she makes her way out of the bed, thankful Samatha is a heavy sleeper, and pads down the hallway to Matilda’s room. The door is slightly ajar, and Jennifer can just make out the sound of muffled crying, breaking her heart. And so she opens the door to see her daughter lying facing the wall, her small form heaving slightly. 

  
  
  


“Matilda,” she says quietly, and the girl jumps, not having heard the door open. As she turns, the tears streaked on her face catch the moonlight, making them shine in a beautiful, haunted way. “Matilda,” she says again, but this time, Matilda falls forward into her waiting arms.

  
  
  


She’s crying so hard, her entire frame shakes, and Jennifer Honey can think of nothing else to do but sing her a soothing song.

  
  
  


“' _Don't cry, I am here little girl,_

  
  
  


_Please don't cry, dry your eyes,_

  
  
  


_Wipe away your tears, little girl,_

  
  
  


_Forgive me, I didn't mean to desert you,_

  
  
  


_Don't cry little girl,_

  
  
  


_Nothing can hurt you, you've nothing to fear..._

  
  
  


_I'm here…'_ ”

  
  
  


“I had a bad dream,” Matilda says once she’s calmed down, curled up in her adopted mother’s lap. Silently, Jennifer implores her to continue. “That you didn’t want me anymore. And you gave me back and drove away. I didn’t know what I did wrong.”

  
  


“Matilda, I would never give you away. Never. I can’t imagine life without you—you’ve brought me so much happiness just by being in my life, and I would never wish that away.” Smiling down at her daughter, she quotes, “I promise, ‘I may not have given you the gift of life, but life has given me the gift of you.’”

  
  


Matilda hums almost sleepily, and smiles into Jennifer’s neck. “That’s nice. Where is it from?”

  
  
  


She chuckles and shrugs. “I’m not entirely sure. I read it somewhere.”

  
  
  


“Well, it’s nice.”

  
  
  


“It is.”

  
  
  


Again, they fall into a silence. It’s long enough that Jennifer thinks Matilda might have fallen asleep, but then the girl surprises her with another question. “Where did you learn that song?”

  
  
  


“My father taught it to me,” she answers, fingers playing with Matilda’s fragile, smaller ones. “Whenever I was afraid, he would sing it to me. He… well, he sang it to me the night he… passed away. I carry fond memories with that song.”

  
  
  


“Do you…” Matilda says but is interrupted with a yawn, and in this brief time Jennifer is brought back to the present. “Do you think he would have liked me?”

  
  
  


“He would have loved you, sweetheart.”

  
  
  


“Really?”

  
  
  


“Really.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Later, when Matilda has been put back to sleep, and Jennifer is crawling back under the sheets, and Samantha is again pulling her close, asking where she’s been, she thinks again of her father—what he would say if he was here with her had life been kinder.

  
  
  


“I think my father would have liked you, too,” she says to Samantha, in lieu of an answer, and Samantha, immediately intrigued, opens one of her eyes.

  
  
  


“Not that I’m not completely curious,” she rasps, voice coloured by sleep, and Jennifer feels warm all over, “but, erm, what brought this on?” Turning to face her, she laughs quietly at Samantha’s half-asleep expression of slight confusion. It was wondrously adorable, and she could not help but reach out and run her knuckles across her cheekbone.

  
  
  


“Matilda,” she says, smiling so the other woman knows nothing is wrong.

  
  
  


“Is that where you went to?” She nods. “Is she alright?”

  
  
  


“She is now, don’t worry.” 

  
  
  


“I interrupted you, I’m sorry. Carry on, carry on,” she says, waving her hand tiredly, making Jennifer laugh again.

  
  
  


“You asked the question, dear.”

  
  
  


“Did I?” She yawns, which contagiously carries on to Jennifer. “Well then, I apologise. Please do carry on, darling, I would very much like to know your thought process.” And with that, she pulls Jennifer around and buries a nose in her hair, sighing contentedly. “You are very warm.”

  
  
  


“Y—yes, well.” She answers, pretending the reason for her heated skin is something other than Samantha’s lips grazing her neck. “I had a little talk with Matilda and she… well she asked about my father.”

  
  


“Oh?”

  
  
  


“She asked if he would like her. And I told her, of course. He would have loved her. A-and that’s the truth, he… he would have loved her.” Samantha is playing with her fingers, and she wishes she would never let go. It’s a comforting feeling, to have someone near her, affectionate with her, after what she knows has been a long time for both of them—it flutters her heart with it’s warmth.

  
  
  


Samantha is quiet, and Jennifer knows she’s waiting for her to continue—knows there’s more she wants to say. “And I thought about it. I think he would have liked you too—no I know he would. He would.”

  
  
  


The other woman considers this for a second, he head tilted upwards from what Jenny can see. “I think,” she says, “I think my dad would’ve liked you too.”

  
  
  


“Really?”

  
  
  


“Well, what’s there not to like? You’re sweet, kind, just as beautiful inside as out, and you make me ridiculous amounts of happy.” At her words, Jennifer melts inside.

  
  
  


“You make me happy, too,” she laughs giddily, and she almost can’t believe it—that she’s finally happy, after so long. That she has two people who give her an unbearable joy in just existing, who give and give and give without expecting anything in return. “So happy.”

  
  
  


“That’s good,” Samantha says, leaning forward and planting a kiss on her cheek, “because I don’t know what I’d do without you.” And she gives her such a sweet, loving look, that Jennifer leans up and kisses her, and even though it’s soft and quick, the simple act brings a heat to her cheeks.

  
  
  


She feels Samantha smile against her lips, and pulls away. 

  
  
  


“I love you,” Samantha says, and she dives forward to capture her lips in a kiss that makes Jennifer gasp. Both arms twine around her neck almost unconsciously, to pull Samantha closer as the other woman’s hand falls on her hips and her tongue begs entrance from her lips which she freely gives—and just as suddenly, Samantha pulls away, tucking her face into Jennifer’s neck, placing butterfly kisses there as she tries to catch her breath.

  
  
  


“I’m sorry,” she says, and Jennifer, in her still slightly clouded mind, cannot understand what she means to be sorry for. “If I made you uncomfortable—or I… I moved too fast or…”

  
  
  


“No,” she says quickly, unable to bear the thought of Samantha thinking she did anything wrong. “No you didn’t. I promise you,” she lifts Samantha’s chin to look her in the eyes—something she almost regrets, because she almost loses the ability to think at the sight of blown pupils, “I—I promise you. Oh,” she breathes, and pulls Samantha close again, wanting more, needing more. She tugs mindlessly, and suddenly Samantha is above her, pulling away only to trail heated kissed down the column of her equally heated neck.

  
  
  


“Samantha, I,” Jennifer starts, but her thought is cut off when Samantha lightly sucks on her neck, and instead the honey-brunette lets out a sound that so wants to be a moan, feeling the rumble of a groan on her neck. “ _Oh_ ,” she breathes again as she pulls the woman upwards for another mind-numbing kiss.

  
  
  


A line of fire burns itself from her face to the tips of her toes, not to mention a few places in between. They have kissed before, of course, but never with this much… intensity. Never to the point where Jennifer just wants, wants, _wants_ so overwhelmingly. Wants something she cannot even begin to fathom, and—

  
  
  


She pulls away, chest heaving and lips swollen red. “I— I’m sorry,” she whispers, and Samantha falls back onto the bed, an arm curls around her waist.

  
  
  


“Don’t be,” she says, and Jennifer starts to protest but she continues. “Really, don’t be. I would _never_ want to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.” Samantha smiles at her, a sweet, disarming thing, and then sternly says, “And don’t.”

  
  
  


“Don’t what?”

  
  
  


“Feel guilty. It’s perfectly alright to not want—”

  
  
  


“But I do,” Jennifer says, “I do want. I _want_ so much… but it, it’s—I’m…” She purses her lips, frustrated, “I’m overwhelmed with it. And I do e—enjoy it, more than I can express, but…”

  
  
  


“But you would like to go slow?” Jennifer nods, and Samantha smiles again. “Or course. This doesn’t change anything at all,” she says, “don’t worry, alright? This doesn't change how much I want you,” at this, Jennifer gasps, “or how much I love you,” and Jennifer gasps here for a different reason.

  
  
  


“I love you too, darling.” And after a few slow, sweet kisses, nothing is said, overcome by the blissful oblivion of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos and comments are loved and appreciated, but never mandatory :) (Also, song credits of 'I'm Here' go to Tim Minchin.


End file.
